Choice of Obedience
by SlipperbackTub
Summary: He saw her across a smoky ballroom in New York City, her cheap pink dress hanging uncomfortably off her slender figure. SYNLET. AU oneshot.


**Choice of Obedience**

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He saw her across a smoky ballroom in New York City, her cheap pink dress hanging uncomfortably off her slender figure. It was obviously made for a bustier woman, but the dark-haired girl who toyed with the stem of her champagne glass was a slip of a thing. She had long, beautiful black hair which glinted in the overhead lights, and unlike the other women who wore their hair up, she had it down and straight around her shoulders. Her hair was what caught his eye, and the way she carried herself was what kept it. She looked awkward but she had a smile on her lips, obviously enduring this evening for some purpose.

That some purpose came along dressed handsomely in a tuxedo and smoking a cigar, and waltzed her onto the dance floor with less than a word, spinning her away from him. He took a sip of his beer and tried not to look like he was searching for her; when he finally saw the sheen of her raven hair, he relaxed and enjoyed the view. She was relieved to be with someone familiar, but she couldn't dance as well as her silver-haired partner, nor make the witty conversation he was obviously making. She stayed as far away from him as possible during a slow waltz, and he never saw their hips touch.

The band hadn't even finished their dreamy song before she broke away with a forced smile, saying some polite apology and heading towards the bar. As he pulled his chair back and began to make his way slowly towards her, he saw the pallor on her cheeks and her hands were shaking slightly. At the bar, she sat on the barstool and ordered a martini, tucking her hands under her chin as though she were afraid to touch something.

"Hey." He said, not taking a seat next to her, just leaning against the bar.

She looked up at him, blinking a pair of stunning violet eyes, the most remarkable shade of purple he had ever seen. Thanks to the lighting in the room, her eyes seemed almost black, with very thick lashes; he enjoyed looking at her eyes more than her hair, and when she shifted her weight he caught a hint of her scent – some sort of cheap perfume – and found it intoxicating.

"Can I do something for you?" She asked, and her voice was a little rougher than he had expected, a little stronger than her slender frame belied.

"Let me buy you a drink, for one," He answered. "And giving me your name would be another."

Something twitched on her face – an acknowledgement of his pride? – before she turned away to hide a smile. "Pretty blunt," She said lightly. "Do those lines work on anyone?"

He took a seat next to her, propping one elbow on the bar. "They could use a little work."

She shook her head. "I'm Violet. Violet Parr. And if you want to pay for my drink I won't stop you, but the most a drink will get you is a slightly delayed goodnight."

He opened his wallet and took out a twenty, laid it on the bar and ordered a finger of whiskey. "I'm Buddy Pine," He said quietly.

"Oh? So what brings you to a benefit like this?" She asked, raising a narrow eyebrow.

Buddy took a sip of his whiskey, felt the familiar burn, and had the sudden urge to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. He resisted this with some difficulty. "My associate is having an affair with his wife, to be honest," Buddy said with a quirk of his lips. "And I didn't have anywhere else to be."

Was she surprised at his boldness? "You get pretty dressed up for something like a benefit ball," She noted, looking at the dark tuxedo and scarlet cummerbund. His narrow black tie was perfectly straight, but there was something mussed in his combed back orange hair, a little roughage in his hands, which didn't tell of wining and dining. He was built solidly, with wide shoulders and a barrel chest, tapering down to a narrower waist; the name Buddy didn't quite fit him.

"So do you," He returned, and downed the whiskey.

She snorted to herself, and toyed with her martini before plucking the olive out and closing sharp, white teeth around the toothpick. "Believe it or not, I'm pretty amazed they didn't throw me out for tackiness," Violet answered. "I thought they had a special veto power against dresses rented for under a hundred dollars."

He wanted to turn her head again, so he could look at her eyes and count the flecks of blue in them, but decided against it. "They seem to be ignoring it for the time being. Why are you here, if you're so resistant to rented dresses and black tie affairs?"

Violet grinned. "My brother's raising money for his business," She said, "And he had an extra ticket."

"Since we're both here with people who won't miss us, let's go somewhere."

"Slow down, partner, you've only bought me a drink. You don't own me." She said with a dry bite of sarcasm.

"I'd like to."

She gave him a wary, startled gaze. "I'm not for sale, actually."

"Good. Because I don't make a habit of chasing women who sell themselves for a martini." He said, and ordered another whiskey.

Violet stared at him, feeling the unmistakable blush crawl over her cheeks. Her dance partner earlier had made a similar proposition, but without the complete and utter _cockiness_ of this Mr. Pine. It was as though he knew she'd follow him anywhere, without him even having to try, and part of her was bewildered and the other part was dizzyingly excited. This sort of thing didn't happen to her – she wasn't exactly the sort of girl that men wrote songs about in sleepy saloons.

"I don't make a habit of falling prey to someone who could be an ax murderer," She heard herself saying uncertainly, as if to say, _Well, I once let an ax murderer sleep on my couch, but I'm still here, aren't I?_

He smiled, the corners of his baby blue eyes crinkling, and she saw he had crooked teeth. His hands were still calloused when she checked them again, as though they could be replaced with baby-smooth hands in a matter of moments. Those callouses could be from beating his girlfriend though, for all she knew.

"Good point. I'm not an ax murderer, I promise you."

"So what are you? I mean, what do you do for a living?"

Buddy drained his whiskey, wincing subtly at the streak of fire. "I'm a supervillain. I create weapons and sell them to countries at the highest bidder."

_What the hell!?_

She stared at him, completely dumbfounded. "Are you serious?"

He cocked his head to the side, his gaze making her feel raw and uncomfortable, but in a shivery, pleasant sort of way. "As the plague."

Violet laughed nervously, more an expelling of nerves than anything. "My God," She finally said. "You have a lot of guts just _saying_ that."

"I'm not going to lie to you."

He was blunt, honest, and that hard gaze made her want to crawl away and also attack him right there on the barstool. "You could have made up something up. For all you know, my brother's a superhero."

"He _is_ a superhero. Don't insult my intelligence."

Violet leaned back, folded her arms across her pink sequined dress, and glared at him. "I'll insult you all you want. What gives you the right to talk like that and make accusations against my brother?"

Buddy stood up, suddenly showing her exactly how tall he was, how easily he could hoist her up to his level and not even break a sweat or lost his composure. "They're not accusations, sweetheart, I've fought him before." He jerked his head towards the door. "C'mon. I know a place where we can grab dinner."

She followed him as though she were in a trance, blinking stupidly, wondering if he was targeting her because her family was full of superheroes. Was this a trap? Every logical bone in her body screamed yes, that she should flick off these stupid high heels and use them to club him into unconsciousness. But there was a layer of her, the layer of her that seemed closest to her skin, which wanted to follow him.

He held her coat out for her, and she slid into it nervously; there was a brief moment when he was directly behind her, smoothing her coat over her shoulders, and she turned her head quickly to keep him in her sights. "It's cold out," He breathed, just behind her, and she could have sworn he inhaled the scent of her hair.

"It's January," She bit back, although her teeth were chattering before they even stepped into the freezing cold. It had nothing to do with the temperature drop either – for the first time in her life, Violet was doing something completely reckless, stupid, selfish, and would probably get her seriously injured or killed.

And she wanted to do it.

He tugged her along on an invisible thread, and she followed behind him like a frightened lamb, ready to butt him from behind at any moment. She had smelled heady and delicious when he helped her into her coat, of warmth and smoke and some furtive darkness. He could feel her squirm as he touched her shoulders, and the idea of her squirming because of him was enough to make his eyes darken.

Damn it, but he wanted her.

There was a little place not half a block from the benefit ball, a small restaurant which specialized in pizza and anonymity. He had dined there on multiple occasions, always trusting that he could leave an alias and nobody would be the wiser. Ted, a crusty and venerable Italian, would sell a pizza to the Boston Strangler without batting an eye – he was good that way. He pulled out a chair for her and sat directly across from her; there, now he could feast on those eyes as much as he wanted.  
She didn't want to look at him, but that was fine, since the rest of her face was just as entertaining. A small pointed nose, a full lower lip, and a wing of hair falling into her eyes; there was enough expression on her face to keep him amused for hours. Finally, she met his gaze. "Is this some kind of trap?" She asked him, and her voice was sharp. "Because of my brother?"

"No," He said firmly, and she seemed to relax a little. He hadn't lied to her before, and he never would. "I didn't see The Dash's sister when I looked across the room, I saw a beautiful woman who had too much company on her hands."

She fidgeted, playing with the hem of her coat. "I thought you said you weren't going to lie to me," Violet said, and although she tried to sound light and playful it was sorely lacking in genuine heart. "You couldn't walk in that room without tripping over beautiful women."

"You couldn't walk in that room without tripping over plastic," Buddy said coldly. "That's what most of them are, anyway. Coiffed little dolls meant to be eye candy."

"Oh, so you prefer a more natural look?" She said, trying to be teasing.

His gaze was almost aggressively serious. "I prefer you."

Violet scooted away from him a little, her heart pounding. "You scare me a little," She admitted.

"That's another reason I like you. Any other person would be running for the door by now."

"What makes you think I'm not going to do that in five seconds?" Her voice quavered.

"Because if you do, I'll find you anyway. And I think you know that."

"Is that a threat?"

He flicked his fingers at the owner, Ted, as though he owned the place. "It's a fact, sweetheart." He wasn't the slightest bit demanding, just flat and completely honest; she stopped checking the exits in spite of herself.

"So…you're a supervillain?" She asked tentatively. "How bad are you?"

"Meaning?"

"Have you ever killed anyone?"

"Yes."

She swallowed hard, and the door was looking a lot more pleasant. "Who?"

"Superheroes."

"People like my brother?"

"No. People who were in my way. I like your brother; he knows how to keep his fights on the streets and not make it personal." Buddy said firmly, evaluating her. She was taking it like a champ, although the pink spots on her cheeks from the alcohol and the cold had disappeared beneath her pallor.

"How many people have you killed?" Violet asked, plucking at the cuff of her coat.

"Twenty seven."

_What am I doing here? He's a murderer._ A cold hearted, remorseless murderer who was showing an interest in her for no discernible reason. He could screw her and then cut her throat because her brother was a superhero, and that thought terrified her. She stood up abruptly. "I have a feeling I'm going to be twenty eight," Violet whispered, and headed for the door.

The bracing wind robbed her of breath, and she hurried down the sidewalk, her heels clacking on the pavement. If she needed to, she could kick off the heels and –  
He caught her elbow and spun her around, pressing her against the brick of a nearby building. She was afraid of him, terrified of him, and he needed to show her what he felt. Those damned purple eyes were drowning him. "I will never hurt you," Buddy said lowly. "And if you stay with me, nobody else will either."

She didn't relax in his arms, but he felt her _give_ a little. "What are you asking?"

"I'm asking tonight. And then we'll see how it goes from there."

Violet narrowed her eyes at him, and then looked away, a flush coloring her cheeks. "I don't think so."

"Why."

"Why? Maybe because you've killed twenty seven people, maybe because you tried to kill my brother, maybe because I don't even know you, maybe because you scare me, and maybe because I'm not the kind of girl to have a one-night stand with a stranger!"

She was like a little kitten, testing her claws; she had all the weapons, but in miniature, and didn't know how to use them yet except by instinct. He could play with her now, but one day she'd be a grown up tiger, all fangs and blood, and that thought delighted him even more. "I never tried to kill your brother. And I know you, more than you think I do. And I'm not asking for a one night stand, I'm asking for a chance." He told her fiercely.

"You don't even know me!"

"I'd like to."

Violet opened her mouth to snarl a retort, but before she could even comprehend what she was going to say, he kissed her. Not a light peck either, a full on kiss which made her head reel. She reached up, either to slap him or pull him away she couldn't tell, but whatever happened she found herself clenching a handful of his auburn spikes and pulling him closer. Both of his large hands were cupping her face, pulling her against him as though there was nothing else on earth he wanted. There was some sense of desperation in the way she stood on tiptoe, a yearning in the little keening noise she made from her throat, and everything else melted away in a heated swirl of color.

He broke the kiss, and his sky blue eyes were dark with fire. Her lips were looking swollen and delectable, and he couldn't resist nipping the bottom one ruthlessly.

"My place," Buddy said, and yes, there was a command in his voice. She shivered inside her skin. "Now."

Her obedience wasn't an order. It was her choice.

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**A/N: **_I watched Public Enemies yesterday and had the inexplicable urge to write this oneshot, which essentially rips off the scene where Billie meets Dillinger. Enjoy! 3_


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